


Subject: 713114

by lechechu



Category: Half-Life
Genre: City 17 (Half-Life), Experimental Style, Gen, Poetic, Pre-Half-Life: Alyx, Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechechu/pseuds/lechechu
Summary: Experimental fics with the only representation of the G-man. Meant to be of poetic expression, like Mike Shapiro's voicing for his character. An off-beat song.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Particles

A mess. **  
**

The eyes that stared back at him were all but his own, within that mirror. Did they mock him - they did not. Only reminded him of the moments that were to come after some time. The sound of trickling water from the faucet, being swallowed back into the drain and to the residue processing was all that filled his ears. He gazed into that mirror - still a mess - as his hands gripped onto the porcelain as droplets of blood fell from his nasal cavity, washed away and drowned in that flow of drainage.

The light within that bathroom flickered, and in those quick moments of darkness his eyes glowed a desired blue. Nails scraped against the sink, screeching as so from the movement, before the man took it upon himself to lower to the toilet off on the right side, sitting on his knees and heaving into the bowl. The soft gurgle and vomit emptying wasn’t necessarily the worst that came to him - it was the aftermath. The emptiness, the chasm leftover. Oxfords lightly brushed the tiled floor, scuffing the smooth material as the pale man tried to save his knees from the aches and cracks. 

Lifting his face from the bowl, blood dripped down into the same bile he gave out, before he reached for the handle to flush it away. Shakily taking hold of the cloth that hung from the rack, the government man pressed it to his mouth and nose, closing his eyes as he breathed in the faint scent of detergent from last night’s wash.

Lavender.

Deep blue eyes opened to gaze within the small bathroom, as the ceiling light ceased it’s final flicker. Pressing his back to the wall, the pale man stared to the tub across from him - water overflowing from that faucet too - running rampant. It spilled out from the sides, starting to form a puddle that slowly crept its way to him, soaking into his socks and drenching his pant legs as he extended his limbs.

Within minutes, the bathroom he sat in was filled to the brim with water - up to his neck. Surely it would have seeped out under the door frame, yet the rooms outside wouldn’t be advised to see anything wrong from within. Lowering the cloth from his nose and mouth, the blood stain around his philtrum and corners of his lips - the government man took a soft intake of air as the water rose up with such quickness that it would have been mistaken for a burst water main. Clenching his eyes shut, the pale man soon opened them up again, staring at the items that floated within that watery environment.

Combs, toothbrushes, soap bottles, drenched towels that floated within that buoyancy. His tie floated along with them, and his suit jacket began to get heavy, weighing and confining him to the tiled floor of where he sat. Unbuttoning the jacket to relinquish him, his body too began to float in the room, being lifted up towards the same ceiling light that had flickered earlier. Only that the room continued to get longer and longer in height, so that he may not reach it. 

It only flickered once, most likely due to the objects floating past, casting a shadow within the aquatic environment. Staring up at the light, the government man tried to keep the air in his lungs for as long as he could, until he grasped at his throat, bubbles escaping his mouth. He tried to yell, only to receive more water to enter his mouth and force pressure down his throat and into his lungs. Kicking his legs, his Oxfords slowly untied and drifted off his feet, before his movements ceased and he drifted lifelessly in that room.

Facial expression relaxing and small bubbles escaping his mouth, blue eyes slowly closed to a slit. It wasn’t until one of his shoes knocked against the door, causing the frame to burst outwards, draining the water into the surrounding rooms he occupied. Filing out of the bathroom with the wave of water, the government man rolled out onto the floor, heaving and coughing from the impact and the air to return to his lungs. Slowly coming to, the pale man wearily looked around, water rolling off his drenched body and hair - most of the water had drained away into nothingness as if he had dreamt the whole moment. 

Except, the evidence that remained was him being soaked to the core.

Standing up from the creaky, hardwood floors, the bureaucrat slowly made his way to his bedroom, pulling the tie from around his neck and beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. Exposing his torso, and then the rest of his body, he climbed nude into his bed, disregarding his hair being still soaked and flattened from being so. He felt exhausted - unreliable. Perhaps rest would allow him to restart what he had witnessed, felt or otherwise endured in that specific time frame. 

The Sun had only begun to peak its last moments of providing light along the lands, angled perfectly to shine along the bureaucrat’s face. Opening one eye, to save the aching sensitivity to it, he slowly gazed around the room he was in, hand grasping at the sheet that covered from his torso and down.

Shifting his legs, the government man soon closed his eye again - the warmth of the Sun providing a sense of gentle relief and an aura to rest easy. However, the easiness would cease to be, as light that came in from his window was no longer on him, and instead on the ceiling. Blue eyes reopened to the sight before him, watching dust particles drift in and out of that beam of orange light within that green-ish blue environment. Quietly inhaling, happy that no water collection was still within his lungs, the government man slowly raised his hands to gaze at them.

They were rough, overworked, unremarkable. 

Lightly lifting the aim of where his eyes focused on, the government man thought quietly to himself as the orange beam of light from the setting Sun slowly faded with the minutes that ticked of sunset, and soon he was left in darkness, with the only glow of the environment to be of the outside street lamps.

Inhaling in deep once more, the bureaucratic man felt a certain twinge within his frame, that gave of certain… delectation. He curled his fingers, folding them over his abdomen as the twinge grew increasingly noticeable and with intensity. A small groan left his mouth, the acceleration of this happenstance containment of pleasure left his mind in shambles. He gripped at the sheets below him - deep blue eyes closing at the sensation. 

The bureaucrat’s breathing had gotten shallower, hotter over time, back arching to the unforeseen gratification that tingled along the neurons of his body. He could feel his brain’s impulses and neurotransmitters to get his body moving - however not involvement with pain. Unrecognizable pleasure.

His moans grew deep with tone, fingers curling around the sheet that was on him, sweat beginning to bead along his forehead. Feverish, perhaps - excessive in nature. One might have mistaken him for having a partner, should his tenements around him could hear what he spoke of in the night. He felt weighed down, restrained perhaps, his breaths speeding up in their own excessive nature as well. 

The impulses within intensifying with those same breaths of air, almost chokingly considering cutting off his supply entirely. The tingles came in waves, gathering along the veins of his wrists before filing into the tips of his fingers and back up his arms. A similar feeling to static, or bubbling acid - ripe with the animosity nowhere to be found. The government man called out and tried to turn onto his side, in hopes of curving the sensation to a lesser means of volume. Yet it stayed in place, focusing on the center of his chest - gathered at the heart.

Folding his arms up against his chest as he laid on his front, the bureaucratic man couldn’t tell if this was relief or torture; leaning more towards the latter. He curled up into a ball, mouth muffled into the mattress below to save his neighbors of having to call authorities. It wasn’t time yet - no.

Let them come naturally.

Gritting his teeth, the pale man then exhaled shakily as the pleasure had peaked, causing him to scream out into the void of his mattress and draw his legs in to assume the fetal position. Some snaps of green energy shot out from his left and right, damaging the interior walls of his room from the charge. Panting heavily, the G-man simply whimpered in uncertainty, keeping his face planted within the sheets as the residue energy had fizzled out of his neural system.

Within the hour, he slowly moved his head to the side, glancing at the remnants of the clock by the bedside. The ticking had stopped - the hands remained the same position. Deep blue eyes were filled with subtle tears that subsequently rolled over the ridge of his nose and soaked into the sheet below him. Slowly turning his face back into the muffledness of his solitude, he remained as such throughout the night.

Come morning, and the rains ticked against the window of the unstable Spring months, allowing gray, volumetric light to flood in from the parted curtain. The bed was no longer occupied, instead the man who previously did was standing in front of the mirror, buttoning up his dress shirt and doing his tie with tender, shaky hands. His body was exhausted, unaccounted for. The basis of fear wasn’t exactly in the limelight, but it could have been.

Setting the wet clothes to dry on a rack, the government man walked into the kitchen, staring at the pots and pans that hung on the wall. The G-man then moved to retrieve a kettle and ration of instant coffee, boiling hot water on the stove. He waited, staring at the black kettle. Before he knew it, it screamed of being ready, steam escaping the valve at the top. Bringing a cup down from the cabinet, the pale man tore the package of instant coffee, letting the powder settle at the bottle of the mug before pouring in the hot water. 

Taking a spoon and the jar of artificial sweetener - along with the mug of instant coffee - the G-man placed it onto the table and pulled a chair, moving to sit in it. Opening the jar of sweetener, the pale man took his spoon to scoop some into his coffee before grabbing for another spoonful, eventually closing the lid to preserve the freshness.

Dipping the spoon into the coffee, he began to stir, watching the whirlpool be made within. Hearing a small tap of the glass jar, the bureaucratic man glanced to the contents within, finding the artificial sweetener to be gathered at the closed lid, almost as if the jar had been turned upside down. Deep eyes blinked lightly before he simply ignored it and moved to have a sip of the hot coffee. Of course, it wasn’t the greatest in the world, but at least it warmed him up to endure this cold day. 

About to have another sip, the government man heard the small metal spoon clink against the table, pausing in his place. Slowly setting the mug down, the G-man watched as the spoon began to levitate, along with other specifiable items such as a book, a plate and the same jar of artificial sweetener. Reaching to pluck the spoon from the anti-gravity, he glanced to it within his fingers before letting go and watching it return to the air. Taking a hold of the coffee mug, the bureaucratic man simply had another sip, avoiding another confrontation.

He couldn’t be bothered right now.

Once the coffee had withered away the more he drank it, the government man checked the integrity of his wet suit jacket, that still laid upon the dry rack he placed earlier. Lightly rolling the fabric between his fingers, he deemed it to be dry enough, and slide it onto his body.

He moved over to the mirror, deciding whether or not to leave it undone or done up. Decided firmly, the government man then did up the buttons, lightly smoothing out the fabric of any creases it received. It wasn’t until he glanced to his face that he realized the messiness of his hair. Unacceptable.

Glancing to the doorway of his bathroom, the G-man then decided to head into the kitchen instead, pausing as most of his utensils and plates were out of the cupboards and drawers, floating in practical subspace. Inhaling lightly, the government man then moved over to the sink and turned on the faucet, watching the water slowly dribble out into that same anti-gravity. Grabbing what he could, he presented it to his hair, slicking it back and flattening down any potential stragglers. Turning off the faucet, the bureaucratic man then made his way to the entrance of his apartment, taking hold of an umbrella.

He glanced back momentarily to that kitchen, watching the items float and clink into each other when met. Opening the door, the G-man then headed outside, closing the door after himself - to which the utensils and plates crashed to the floor upon his leave.


	2. The Blue Forest

Mist. **  
**

Despite the prerequisite of being slumped in a leather chair, half of his apartment was nowhere to be found. The cold droplets of fog melted into his skin, being delicately caressed against as they dripped down his cheek within that sheer darkness - liken to that of tears. He stared to the other side; the trees swaying in greeting and abundance, blue and nourished. Wind current frozen and dismissed at times, the organics ceased during so, fluttering of leaves to retract their original message.

Fluidity drifted along their canopy, the government man gripped the armrests of his chair. The environment shot at him, delivering him to be in the middle of a plain, circled in trees. Enclosed, remote - disguised. Unbelieved. Dream sequence, he knew he was presented still in his chair, unrestrained but confined. One step could send him back. The forest rustled around him, whispering sweet nothings in the flutters, to be mistaken for another greeting.

Of hostility.

Swayed with dismay, his presence sent them into a flurry of unexcused invitation. The current of fluidity became displaced - desperate to knock him away. Blue eyes gazed at the organic riot around him, preventing his sight from beyond the trees. Hidden - treasured, against all odds. He bent his right finger and tapped the chair with a filed nail, ceasing their disapprovement. A shift of the mouth and the organics flattened to the ground, shoving him back to where he belonged. He gazed at the faucet that dripped of remnants of that blue, soaked and unsure.

His dress shirt stained, dyed as he laid in the tub, however one look down at himself provided no context of there being attire. Nude, and water that colored none. The steam caressed against his face like that same mist, beads dripping from his forehead and back into the gather. Deep blue eyes remained the same - distant, forever staring at the dripped faucet. A shift of the foot drew him back into the blue forest, among the trees that had flattened within the same plain.

Nude, stared at the ruptured environment - aim towards the moon. Within the bath, the water drew hotter, then freezing - arctic. Icicles stuck to the hair strands before melting into them once the fluid had gone to warmth. A soft blink of the eyes and himself was outside of the bath, considerably still within. His subjects - alternates perhaps, outlined the trees that passed. They gazed to him within that tub, desired glow of eyes never ceasing their cosmic burning. He too gazed back.

The blue forest.

Unbelieving of their hostile nature, the government man gazed at the beaded drops that began to float from his bath, one by one and in less numbers to that anti-gravity. In attempts, he moved his hand to grab at them, only for them to change their ethereal state and split apart in diversion. Cell division, infecting the outside and like of the outside. Fingers rolled the droplet over his print, unrecognized by authority. A print that defined him and current-withstanding DNA.

He was nothing.

Non-existence but the current notion of existing in realm, or dimension. His doppelgängers, relinquished their glow and dismissed themselves, for they could not be obtuse to this man’s discovery. Letting the droplet of water return to the air, the pale man soon rest his arms along the tub’s rim before dispersing from view and under the water, causing the surface to be broken and sink him into the sea.

Singular light rolled over his face and torso, drifting in the deep, as he stared to the surface that eluded him. Small bubbles fled from his mouth, deep blue eyes at a slit. Drifting in nothingness and somethingness, he had no desirable fear - only surrender to the elements. The government man let his fingers drag through volume, hearing muffled by air pressure. From below, flowers began to float to ascension - and he descended. 

They passed with gentle embrace, lotus; petals swiping his face as their numbers grew to the millions. Might be mistaken for a pond, a deep pond. Eyes tried to count them, no relief of sheer understanding however not unliked to their beauty as they trickled the light, filtering the darkness to encompass that of the bureaucrat. He broke through that wall of flowers, and into the setting of Sun. Still within that fluidity, he returned back to the blue forest, and straight back into the tub he descended previously. 

Hands gripped the rim, pulling him out of the water and back into his feeble bathroom, panting heavily and letting water disperse from his lungs by the cough, he wiped his face free of leavings, staring at the water he presented in. Lotus petals dotted his soaked hair, along in his bath. Slowly swallowing and panting, the government man soon climbed out of the tub, grabbing the towel to cover what shame he had. 

He pulled the plug, watching the petals gather at the drain before he had gathered them too. The pipe gurgled at the excess of flow, however evacuated the water to avoid another deterrent the man had gone through. Taking the petals, the bureaucratic man moved to his kitchen, leaving trail of beaded water to and from as he placed the material upon his table. To the bedroom he went, to get dressed into his attire before entering his bathroom once more - a no minute later. 

He gazed at the tub off to his left, inhaling as it was filled once more, however not with the fluid that got him clean. The same lotuses, perhaps the millions. He took that minute to process, before simply combing his hair back and dismissing the circumstances, turning off the light to enshroud the room in darkness.

He returned to the kitchen, pausing at the attribute before him; the petals had fluttered out into many, forming the same flower that overcrowded his bathroom tub. Mere happenstance, gone ignored. He took the flowers within gentle hands, gazing at their wet-beaded petals before placing them into an empty pot in the corner. They multiplied, but paid mind to spilling over. Uncertainty, undiscovered.

Soon he placed the kitchen within darkness with a flick of the switch upon the wall, returning to his place of origin - the chair. He slumped it in, staring to the entrance of his apartment that slowly descended into misunderstanding. The walls of paper thin, the tiled floors of grime and cracks into earth, holes presented in ceiling. The navy-blue suited man simply closed his eyes as his room was mirrored to that same collapsing roof. Himself still presented in chair, he gazed at the mirror image, spotting a small quirk of his lips even if that action wasn’t desired.

Hearing the door bang - as if slammed shut or barraged into - the government man then watched it rip off its frame, a suction that disrupted the internal flow. Paintings, clocks, ashtrays, those same flowers that filled his tub ascended and disappeared within the white light, before the door had returned to the frame once damage was done. He sat there, unknowingly, gandering at the ceiling - instead met with a wall. No mirror image, no doppelgänger to smirk in disapproval. 

Inhaling the sweet scent leftover, the government man glanced to his dark kitchen, unsure if one could be staring back. Unforgiveness, unamusement - indiscretion. Chaos of subtle kind. The pale man stood up from his chair and stepped towards that of his kitchen, switching on the light again. Cutlery arranged in image, mistaken to be sewn by strings of that young woman. Drifted, swayed, curiosity in anti-gravity. Had enough, the pale man took the cutlery from their position and returned them to the drawers to be put to rest.

And so he would need to be.

The bureaucrat turned off the light again, a blue-ish glow flooding in from the windows grew with intensity; and so his curiosity. He approached the curtain and delicately moved the fabric with his fingers, gazing to the sight withhold - the blue forest. Eyes settled upon the middle of the plain, surrounded by those forgotten trees, a lone bathtub and filled to the brim of lotus. The corner of his lips quirked, and eyes returned to a downward nature before the curtain had drawn back to their original state, and the government man left the kitchen to enter his bedroom.

He climbed in, intention of rest, but perhaps enough of dream sequence. He settled into the sheets, silk and woven clear, his head presented to the pillow. Deep blue eyes settled heavy, as the pale man laid on his side, staring to the window that flooded in the same blue light. The muffled sound of the sea, the protracted shadows along his walls gathered by the flowers that floated past, imitation of fish. 

The bureaucrat simply let heaviness take over, eyes softly closing to the exhaustion.

The world around him flooded within deep sleep, furniture lifting in buoyancy along with objects of general use. He remained undisturbed on the bed, undrowned, or airless. Lotus flowers drifted by like debris, caught in the current of rotation. The blue forest slowly crept into his abode, nature to take it’s claim. Not minded, the government man remained asleep.

That uncertainty relieved, the exhaustion dealt with. The G-man lightly nuzzled into the pillow under him, before he too began to float, however in the same position he started. Like waves on the sea, he was caught in the slow current, drifting past floating chairs or crumpled cans - remained unresolved. The burst of the windows to vines from the outside were muffled in nautica, crawling along the walls, intention to claim back what had been taken. Ignorance, destruction, fragility.

None of the outside world had any clue.

Drifting in that illuminated blue, the government man slowly moved his limbs, as the effect from before threw his equilibrium into unseen belief that he was adrift at sea once again. Attuned with self, he quirked the corner of his lips once more, a grave shift upon occurrence earlier. Slowly curling up into the fetal position, the pale man lingered in the living room, afloat amongst the chair and TV set. 

At peace with the world around. Uncertainty became certainty; understanding. He slowly drew back into the bedroom, avoiding conflict or blockage of materials in the old world. Returned to his bedroom, the apartment began to file out the water and blue forest like too of a drain in the tub, back out the window it impacted. Laid gentle kind on the bed, the window returned unbroken after all had left and returned to place unscathed.

Quietness, aesthetic, the blue glow had turned pale white, volumetric to flood into the same window - considering the street lamps. Cascading along his frame, he was neither wet or disturbed - and soon to be unexhausted. 

The world around him, the stars in the sky shifted and shot through the atmosphere, caressed without violent nature. A greeting - a gathered hello. Around his bed, the alternates stared continuously, curious and quiet. Awaiting assignment. Instead, none came, and among them the one who rested had no desire to work in standpoint for considerable moments. Relieved, the vanquished from sight, and so did the moon that lined the Earth to provide archaic light among the land. 

Gentleness, a caress however unmistakably done it’s job. The house grew warm with the rising of the Sun, his face properly nourished too of that homeliness. Like a cat basking, the government man lightly rolled something in his hand - a lotus that survived the onslaught of management. As the world brightened for a new day, so did the apartment he occupied. He slowly came to, shifting his body lightly to spare the gentle ache of staying in one position for most of the night.

His eyes slowly opened, settling on the sight in his hand, of a lotus perfectly placed in palm. Deep blue eyes studied it momentarily before softened expression crept forth. His lips curled with amusement, and eyes glowed with the desirable blue of his associates.

_Not this time._


	3. Moon:Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moon:Light = Moon to Light

Rather pale. **  
**

Much like the smoke that drifted from the ash of a lit cigarette, or one of sickly nature. Unhealthiness, either way. Fumes caressed the blue rayon, soaking into the threads like a drawn out bath. The cigarette that lined the ashtray, lingered by the navy-blue suit to collect such musk of scent. Provided little comfort, only creeping goosebumps of the temperature change to dot his imperfect skin. Bench sat, he turned with the atmosphere, stars of the galaxy of same milky pale. Released smoke from his lungs, carried by the wind to unknown destinations. A figment of imaginations.

He lifted his hand to the lunar, almost in greeting or confidence, forming fake monocle with thumb and index. Perfectly outlined within his fingers, the government man had plucked it from that sky with his left hand, rendering to be of merely stars and distant planets that held little significant meaning.

Gone, but historical.

He gazed to the moon that bounced with gentle, jovial ascent, held little warmth and illuminated gray within his palm. Hardly dense, caught in less pressure of vacuum; an inflated balloon filled with helium that lost it’s perfection. Eye blinked in curiosity, a wink to the lunar settled in his lifelines. Removing his fingers away, and his eye to return of gentle nature, a replacement was produced. Simple candlelight, dripping excess and melted wax along unmelt kind.

He returned his vision to that atmosphere, the lunar returned to its position in the sky, unwrought by his attempts. Bright, lulling chaos to cease. Spoke of love, nurturement, the wax rolled onto his palm, the burn and pain delivered reciprocated. He dropped the candle onto its side, flame lit true nonetheless. Dried mess would be hard to clean up. Brick and gravel coarse and disregarded the unseen attack, flame dripped eternal beauty. 

Index finger touched the palm, pulsation of life and that pain. Unsure set in - why was it pain? Desired eyes slowly lifted to that pale moon, a shadow casted amongst the construction of power. The moon was not allowed to see him in glory, thus light stopped part ways to his philtrum. Fingers curled, remaining in effort of to remind of life. And life was remembered, though discarded. Unnecessary - drawn out. Static filled the radio, amongst the classical chords, waiting, heart ticking of a clock. 

Hostility in the works.

The city before him was darkened, with few exceptions of undercover resistance. Transfer of materials, resources, lives; amongst companions. He was alone, treated different, not given a second look. Just like said moon. If the lunar could weep tears, it would drown this world, freeing them of dangerous drought and into dangerous excess. Tenderly touching his left shoulder, he paused at the hand that touched back. 

Distressed - no. Of love. Concern. A forgotten memory. Useless, unaccounted, unbelieved. The fingers that embraced his soon let go, and the bureaucrat glanced back at quick pace, heart throbbing with threat and panic. Not fear - unsurety. Nothing lingered or gazed back from the darkness, a placed trick of the mind. Forgetting this, his deep blue eyes gazed to the flame of the lunar, asking with no obligation to answers.

Who was he now?

Practical purpose - uncertainty. The pale man slowly closed his eyes as the radio returned to familiar tune, albeit warped and consisting of a frequency alien to man. It was night, that’s all he needed to know. A time for relaxation, a time for good rest. What good was good rest if he never had it before?

Reminders remained constant of the future, laid out like a blanket on a flat field. Not too far along now, others would find his purpose before him. He caught glimpses, here and there, time at a standstill, trapped within that simulation to be rescued from by the same young woman that dotted with utensil drawings of anti-gravity. Like misunderstandings, he knew of his capture before but didn’t act upon them.

The moon dispersed, shyly - in fearfulness. Shift of the Oxfords had brought the bashfulness return - the moonlight caressing his face like gentle hands; an apology of leave. He softened that angered expression, deep blue eyes too returning from that flame of glow. Gazing back to the moon to light, the bureaucratic man quirked his brow and lips pulled into amusement, stars twinkling of a party. The night was young.

He stood from that bench, the pose of a dancer, contemporary; to give a performance to no audience. He slid his shoe along that gravel, coming to terms with the unsought candle that dripped nonetheless. Drizzled onto the leather in hopes to be forgiven of pre-established affliction. The G-man bowed to pick up such an apologetic object, placing it upright on the bench he once occupied. A warning - to mind it’s unconscious decisions to inflict discomfort without consent.

Took hold of the lit cigarette from the tray of ash, placing it into his mouth. He breathed in deep - the chemicals providing little relief to such stress. Pale vapors floating and clouding the blue eyes that once held pain. Silhouettes remained watchful, glowing eyes eagerly waiting for a dare. If that dare would indeed come.

Pale light caressed the side of his face, back to the beginning. No warmth, unlike the neighborly Sun. Muffled, he could hear the radio, classical tunes refraining themselves of their warp or own disassociation. They beckoned him - stayed true to structure and remainder. It was night, a time for good rest and relaxation. He took hold of the umbrella and opened, fingers curling around the handle, attachment to lean against his shoulder.

He stood there, thunder rumbling deep within his frame as the first droplet snuffed the flame of the candle. The shadows that whispered sweet nothings ceased their talk upon the first step to return to humble abode, and so had the final note of the radio. 

Silence.

Torrents of rain fell upon the land, the moon brought into cover. The G-man left the bench and ascended stairway, straightening his tie as nature showcased primitive elements. A storm that could last for centuries in the span of 24 hours. He was only euphoric that the lunar had decided to show itself beforehand. Relentless, the rains clouding the desire to explore much of his environment. Night young but dismissed due to unforeseen. He passed the bush of previous events, steering clear of enduring another moment of disheveled hair and soaked body.

He returned to that humble abode, placing the drenched umbrella into the canister collection before closing the door behind him. He gazed around his darkened, dimmed apartment, pressing his back against the splintered wood. Deep blue eyes glanced to left and right before pressed lips sang a whistle. Silence mistakened for rumbling thunder, the government man lightly curled his fingers into an unseen fist before relaxation to the glow on the kitchen table. 

Wood creaked under his steps, and the flick of the switch revealed the crow, enjoying the sensation of grain cracking within its beak. Bandaged, not entirely healed. The bureaucratic man slid his suit jacket off of his shoulders, placing himself in the same chair he occupied that morning. Bird watched - a question to dot the mind.

No dinner presented for one such as he?

The crow gave a caw to the man, unrelentless. He was his own person - and could get his own necessities. Air escaped in a heavy sigh, no internal confliction. The pale man soon presented himself to the bedroom, undressed and relaxed like the night reminded him. He returned to the window, stared out; curtains drawn and window apart to allow nature to show itself, as he too had shown himself. Waist wrapped in towel, the winds that brushed through the strands of hair spoke no worry. Nude, expected - comfort.

The curtains rustled as he uncovered the towel, the wind shifting for a peek. Shyly, or perhaps confident, he closed the towel once more, before it had slipped away from his hands to flood around his bare feet. Scar lined body - forgiven. Like stars; decorative. He gazed to the loud night, slowly drawing backward into that apartment, into credence.

Nails on metal or chalkboard, shivers fluttered spinal column - he lowered himself to the floor - hardwood, lacked major scuff. Legs brought to torso, he placed his face into rugged hands before slowly rolling backwards, muscles flexing in dim light as he pressed on all fours. Nails dug into the hardwood, splinters threatened to form or puncture the imperfect skin. Shoulder blades shifted with tensity, before relaxing as pale light cascaded along those same floors, threatened to expose him in the silhouette.

Not primal, not animal - liken to a human.

Deep blue eyes stared to the window that rattled and rustled with the curtains of the current. Slowly crawling into the light, the man stood up to that frame, watching the walls that separated them to crumple apart into nothingness - exposed, indecent. Not a care in the world. The winds whipped his body and rain sprinkled along his feet and the presence of his companion sat present on his shoulder. 

The world descended into gentle chaos to the storm, nothingness - no moon:light. Tenderly, he shifted his hands to fold behind his back, feeling claws dig into the imperfect skin of his shoulder, as wind current rustled their hair. A soft shift of the head in synchronization, to the roar of the thunder hardly knocked them away in alarm. Instead, the crow merely flattened it’s feathers - disheveled and unaccompanied. 

Annoying.

The G-man paid no mind, staring to the colorless sky that hid that cosmic beauty from view; that was the true vexation. Fingers shifted in unconsciousness, before lips pressed to whistle into that heinous night, echo carried the tune to lengths befitting of a church reverb, rather than an enclosed cupboard. Shadows elongated, clouds parted ways to reveal the love of his life - the lunar peeked in shyness. Caressed only by streaks of rain, heart throbbed in longing, coinciding with the strings of violin or cello.

Window glittered and sparkled, refracted light in prism to cast along those same elongated shadows. A beauty worth mentioning, however a peek would only last for so long. The moon:light disappeared into the hostile clouds; kidnapped. Illuminated eyes ceased their glow once the gentleness had disappeared - however lips quirked that it was still present. Unseen by many, but only available to him.

Slowly, he glanced at his companion upon his shoulder - an expression so soft to be mistaken for love. The beautiful black and sleek nature stared back at him, smitten with the angle. Nude, still presented with confidence, a disguised lover. The government man felt the wind current rustle his hair, deep blue eyes closing as lips were pressed against the feathers in gentle affection for the crow, before returning their gaze back to the rough sea of clouds.

The throb of the heart never ceasing the tick of the clock, and the posture never ceasing the straight silhouette. From behind, the scars along the body illuminated with gentle kind, a perfect little galaxy on an imperfect being. A moon to light.


	4. Souvenir

Xylophone. **  
**

A voice to play on the ears, intention - soft. Much like the rains that fell from the sky, soak the streets for a mirror finish. Colors bounced to and fro, being delivered through shadows of the neon hung to attract them. One attracted; a small shop or previous café - despite their dwindling numbers. Seek refuge in the hail of starlight, to save his suit from unnecessary turmoil. Trench drenched and dripped of excess, removal was appropriate. 

He placed the coat amongst the others, long forgotten memoric. Emptiness, emptiness of emptiness - grew to no formal greeting. Oxfords took their steps, echoing in the dirt and grime of yesteryear’s. Illuminated eyes following their own sight, before the body sat itself in booth. Faded red, ripped and sprung - like an abandoned car of years. Eyes settled upon the cup that was amongst cutlery, before a gentle hand allowed it to be filled of the fresh coffee to combat this forgot night. 

Milk and sugar, smoothly dripped into that fluidity, creating their own work of art - like dye dripped in a tub of water. Liken to a spoon, dipped into the liquid for a taste of invention, spinning and merging like a tight hug to turn that darkness into beige. Magenta caressed his face from the window, and the mere sounds of that xylophone kissed the auditory. Coffee touched his lips, sweet and true; freezing hands to reject that comfort nonetheless. 

Soul refused the rejection. The warmth spread over like waves on the sea, deep blue eyes softened and closed to relive it once more. However, that coffee turned bitter, upon the noises that sparked in the echoed distance. Alarms; a riot amongst the starlight. The cup returned to the table, and body froze in unconsciousness, face turning towards the window of gentle hue. Citizens ran for cover, the onslaught of scanners to expose the pests of denude night.

One remained smitten with the souvenir of coffee, ignoring the attempts of search. They dismissed him, a shadow of the past. Pixelated, cutouts of a meager child’s play, the café screaming the whispers of cracked individuals. Idleness, left behind. Alone in it’s entirety. Darkness, only neon shone. A gentleness, forgiveness, insubordination found nowhere. The government man held the filled cup in togetherness, vapor of the juice within boiling with ill intent.

Disturbance was unliked. 

Mug cracked and discomfort, before contents spilled along the table like blood of a crime. Pattered drips in sync with the xylophone - before the man took it upon himself to remove from that tattered booth.

Disregarded trench coat, he emerged from that shop, to the streets. Rains excluded their caress, soaking into the threads of gentle blue rayon, desired eyes stared to his left. Gigantic sound, a fortissimo, the crash of the piano. Threatening, the thunder of drums as such a creature took steps towards him. Strider strafed and covered the man free of tears overhead, eyesight following the charged worker. Past him, like memoria, their own work to be concluded. What seemed miles away, the bureaucratic man soon turned on his heel, asphalt mirror and shine.

Firstly a walk, habitual amongst his kind. Glass street reflected his emotion - peculiarity. Colored played and bounced on his body as haste quickened - a run. Suit jacket unhandled a button, flair and flare like a curtain on a stormy day. And this was a storm; flooded Oxfords grew heavy like chains. Hair strands slicked back, torrents of water slapping the face of his misannouncement. Thunder rumbled remember, strafed and vibrated the core. Static melted with the world, starlight elongated, heavy breath carried through frigid temperature.

Vapors dispersed to the past, the bureaucrat in daunt. Too early, too early. Squelch and whisper of ache in his foundation, Oxfords became as boats, lost at sea. Nylon was more forgiving, embracing the other’s legs in frantic. To go back now was unneeded - unfruitful. Streets became opaque, deep, slow. Only way now was forward. 

Dispersed, waist deep, arms raised in sixth sense. Gelid - knocked the wind out of him. Stairway was moments away, much like the hypothermia that creep through his own nightmare. Steep, submerged, footing lost. He delicately drowned before pushing his way up those steps, and to the humble abode of sanctuary. He entered that apartment, in practical crawl; leftover energetic strength. To the door, he pushed it open, snagged jacket ripped and spilled like mere marbles off his torso. 

He stumbled to the drawer, lamp knocked over and flamed snuffed. A weapon, the bureaucratic man barricaded into the bathroom, back against tile and wall. Pistol raised, cocked back, bullet in barrel awaiting the kiss of a flame. Heaving and heavy breath, the G-man stared to the grimed white, aimed and shake. Droplets rolled and caressed his face on the way down, a face of trepidation. 

Heartbeat screamed of life and unsurety - anxiety and ruin. Whispers and flickers of the light within, a foot pressed against the door for obstruction. Barrage began, the same thunder amongst his ears, against the door. No talk of Combine code, nor of silhouette whispers. Vibrations to his foundation resonated to left soul. Breath hitched and throat tightened, hands quiver. To bring back that gentle magenta hue, the light in the bathroom delivered.

Pistol end pressed to his temple.

No shot given, a sinister smile to creep across his face. Happiness, delivery - unsure. None came. Thunder ceased, magenta did not. A softness returned, the pistol returned to the door for aim. Rain pattered muffled against the wood, a safe haven; shelter in place while abandoned in place.

Body curled and laid upon that tile, deep blue eyes stared to the 1911 fingers curled around. Exhaustion, warmth took over, much like the coffee he consumed. A good several hours, no rain pattered against that door, instead the soft ticking of a watch or oldened clock. No xylophone, only whistles of gentle nature. The G-man sat up within that enclosed bathroom, staring up at the light that was still present and accounted for. No longer of color; softness of life. 

Eyes glanced to palm, upon the pistol that laid dormant and unused before that same sight to the door. He emerged, slowly, carefully - unaware. Living room adjudged, present in time. Amongst the rest of the apartment. However memoria of what occurred provide evidence through the scratches and indentations on the roughed wood. 

A souvenir.

He gazed to the suit jacket near the entrance, ripped cleanly; would need tender care. He took the pieces into his rough hands and traversed to the kitchen - companion unaware and unlacking in own distress to the man’s shadow-filled night. He spoke no word, hand delivered the breakfast of that eased morning, whilst apt to repair what was damaged to his suit. Wrinkled, stained of grime. A good wash was in order.

Thread and needle, split neatly down the middle to avoid drastic and unkempt style. No intention to do worse, the government man sat in that chair, letting the sound of seed crush in beak to lull him to a sense of alleviation. Only but a sense, soon came the onslaught of unreprised fragility. Tears filled those deep-blue eyes, non-threatening to the threatened. A weathered hand clamped over his mouth to cease the uncomfort rising in ached throat. 

Crow stopped it’s nosh; dark-beaded eyes too gazed in uncomfort. Uncharacteristic, unneeded, unreformed. A remainder of the reminder. The bureaucrat slowly covered those deep blue eyes, shying away like some crush whose been outed. A reprimand of the unforeseen.

Against all odds.

The Sun’s warmth gathered against his face, in comfort; in reassurance. Warm breeze parted curtains, flared like the suit jacket of the previous night. Glancing to the open window, the government man took hold of the plotted plant to set up upon the sill, hardly any clouds to disadvantage. Needed, wanted, and got. 1911 still presented upon the table, remembrance of a disguised fight.

A swift and gentle pain to the head, the bureaucrat touched the philtrum, gazing to the fingers that nearly pulled the trigger. Crimson, no intention of halt. He returned to that bathroom, presented himself to the sink and drowned the vermillion into that drainage; into oblivion. Reflection stared back, nasal cavity draining the fluid that was essential for life. What life could he ever have?

The G-man vented as he became a faucet of his own, and gagged lightly to the droplets that hardly ceased their rushed ruin. Felt stuck, felt unaccompanied for maintenance. He tried to combat the torrents, managing to snake out what could have possibly blocked him. He rinsed it clean away with purity, gazing at the object that pulled out.

A crushed bullet or twisted metal. 

He gazed at the item, before his illuminated eyes took to the reflection in the mirror. Uncertainty… but more so anger. He rinsed his face free of that sanguine, a cloth to press against his mouth to avoid the scent of debilitating iron. What this object could be - unrecognizable. Instead it was inside him, perhaps unknowing for how long. Much like the neon that casted along the wet streets, it mirrored his sense of relief. It was no longer in him.

That’s all it mattered - jaunt. He placed the object into that same cloth, no intention to toss it away. Research, perhaps - or maybe another would spring to mind of recognize. He returned to that kitchen, with sole intent to make his own meal, unauthorized weakness to halt him in the steps. The crow returned to nosh, the government man tossing a look to such a mess leftover. Seed crumbs placed in gentle messages - a word of apology.

The government man parted the curtains, the paled-blue sky and warm breeze making a return after last night’s chaotic. He presented his meal to the table, anyone to be jealous of pure skill and ability. A breakfast of champions but not of. All that mattered to him was the coffee, brewed true and hot, a reminder of the good days. And there would be good days.

Perhaps not soon, but there will be. 

Breakfast enjoyed and small talk with companion presented, the wait would nearly be over. Take in the sunshine, the comfort in the caress, within the PM’s. Spring will yet to make a return, yet another season would love to take the limelight. The bureaucratic man let it, enjoying the time out on his terrace, watching citizens flock the nearest checkpoint for work and ration. Needed, for now. 

Accompanied, crow on shoulder and sunning with the warm breeze, the government man stared to the object leftover from his plight. Glittered, like some diamond, but no dense than a worker’s pen. Perhaps, less than that. It wasn’t until the alarms of construction shook over the lands, erecting a building that held little distaste for its citizens to make mockery of. Compensation, a joke not worth telling.

The bureaucratic man simply sipped his coffee, a third cup of the day, artificial. Sweetened to his liking - but bitter to remind him he was still here. With a caw, the crow presented upon his shoulder left the bureaucrat to slowly sit up and slide on the repaired jacket.

Time of the essence.

Coffee finished and hardly able for another, the bureaucratic man soon stood from the recliner, staring to the skyline that whispered unspoken truth. Combine code presented, muffled, panicked. He curled his fingers around the handle of the briefcase, waving the crow off; bandages fluttering past his face of healed injury. They entered, drawing their weapons to the unforeseen man who stared back at them with illuminated eyes. 

A souvenir to discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am stopping these experimental fics for a bit, as I am running out of steam. Thanks for reading!


	5. Hole-Dwelling

An illusion. **  
**

Forgotten, nonetheless. Masquerade and all, that darkness shown forth, no chance of escape. They would not tell. Amongst those elongated stars came those illuminated eyes, glowing with properties of a quick death. Could not be in that world, could not be in this world. Cramped, overbearing. Remained between the barriers. Of course, not too quick to assume the position - the man before them was a barrier in itself. He stood amid them, dressed of the ones in the old world - primitive and thread-frayed. Embroidered sector across the breast pocket, a mathematical solution to an equation unnecessary in their line of work.

Seventeen. A citizen of anti-patriotic capabilities; for good reason. Unforgiven, undesired to fall in line to persecution and ill-advised management. Those eyes weren’t human; never designed to be. Sparked fear and turmoil, kept hidden from their predecessors on account of undocumented removal to unliked places. Off-world, forgotten nonetheless.

The man remained unscathed by their prick and prodding, inner workings ripe for research yet no one wanted to make the first move. Combine fear and curiosity, left battles of uncertainty and adrenaline. Still betwixt, illuminated eyes caught sight to one approach, before cowering to his expression. Needless, unamused, undeserving. The pale man ignored the naysayers; he was worth taking apart. Soldier upfront and center, took scalpel in hand, delivering slits into the fabric that clouded the government man’s body. Cotton and rayon unraveled to the abuse, tearing those bonds of concealment to expose the body underneath. 

Expected no different; human all the same.

One year, two years, three, four, five years long behind him, sought nothing to change much of his status. Yet, not convinced, the soldiers incited another look, much to the G-man’s dismay. Uncomfortable and unearned of the repetition, one look was all it took. The soldier before him crumbled to the floor, stripped of all structure and point, likened to that of a crushed can. They stared; in the same dismay.

Civil unrest, a particular nightmare gazing at their colleague’s fluids gleaning from the slopped mess along the floor. He was of voluminous state of decay, smell rotting of decease and unmention. One lucky to deal with the same magnitude of scents within QZ. New, but not unrecognized. 

Death.

  
Klaxon sounded, berating the ears as the soldiers filed out of the room, locking such a creature inside. The government man simply glanced to the mess that soiled his shoes, unforgiven of that violent nature. Poise, respected, of considered fear. Lied to - elongated stars simply that of swaying ceiling light to no end. Decisions made clear, sounds undelivered, locked in an icosahedron to live out his days in sanctuary. Well, perhaps to him. 

To others - a jail. Where he could do no harm and no harm could come to him. Tenebrosity developed, the government man onlooking to the eyes that surrounded him within. Still poised and posed half-nakedly, the star-dotted skin likened to their glow. A galaxy worth noting. The government man lightly opened his mouth, deep blue eyes holding no mockery of their disappointing look. Instead, of deceit. Amusement, a sick joke. 

A joke that would end.

The G-man softened his expression; solemn, begged. He fell to his knees, head hung in shame. The susurrate of words, the illuminated eyes that gazed from their circle, burning with a passionate desire to remind the remainder. Lingered, unmoved - thrown into a hole with no intention of escape. Droplets of vermillion dotted his hands that draped along his thighs before the government man slowly raised his head.

Illuminated eyes filled with remorse, philtrum reddened with the blood that seeped towards gravity and caressed his parted lips. A kiss amongst himself, before being slingshotted into that nothingness and forced to the span of that anti-gravity. Pants frayed and ripped from his legs, shame uncovered in the shroud. Unseen chains gripped his wrists, his attempts to fight back proven feeble and to no avail.

He pulled with might - not need; the boots that untied and drifted off his form with sensitivity, unlike the moments he was forced to endure. They cared not, tugging him in that buoyancy, elongated stars hardly heeding to his call for help. He broke free to his lonesome, dropped onto the floor likened to a deflated ball. The government man felt the threads curl around his arms, attempts to draw him back into that confliction. 

Punishment, endurance was necessary. 

He pleaded, to no air, lungs shallowed and screaming for relaxation. Quicksand, he sunk partly into that darkness, Oxfords painted onto his feet before evolving his lower legs into the fabric of pants. Blue rayon, before a belt presented around his waist to hold them in place. He fought, managing to grant himself upright and out of the handle. He broke into a run - into nothingness. The silhouettes provided that barrier to force his stop, threading wrapping around his wrists and snapping him backwards into the previous position.

Against it, undeserving, unafraid… afraid. 

Work shirt neatly tucked into his pants, buttoned and cuffed around the wrists, the government man was pressed to the ground, silhouettes gathering in the circle that he despised - onlooking to his plea and beg; a shameless sight to behold. Uncharacteristic. He kicked and pulled, Oxfords scraping against what barrier presented. Indigo tie strangling the neck once more, suit jacket to accommodate what was left.

He stopped his defense, pushed upright onto his feet to gaze amongst the darkness and elongated stars that drifted like sweet messages of love. Deep blue eyes gazed down to his rough hands, no longer held the sanguine that previously dotted. Wearily, he glanced to the blue suit presented to his frame, poise - to be respected.

Quiet, a breath escaped his lungs, before he returned his eyesight to gaze behind him, a familiar outline of a young woman that had shown herself many times in the form of misguided notes. Likened to a piano, a drop of water in a desert, a work of art unsoiled and naivete. The government man slowly curled his lips into a smile, illuminated eyes joined by the silhouettes of his being.

Sinister.

Sanctuary in the hole-dwelling state.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be happy to explain anything that people might have found confusing!


End file.
